Winners & Losers
by Howling1
Summary: A moment of passion with Kurt and his boyfriend on the football field leads to unexpected consequences for the both of them. That is, unless Sue Sylvester has anything to say about it.


"Yes! Yes! _YES!"_

Kurt gave a shout and leaped into the air as Sam caught the football just as the buzzer sounded; they had scored a touchdown at the last minute, and the game now stood tied at 13-13. If they got the extra point, they would win.

For a brief, shining moment, Kurt wished he was back on the team as their kicker. It had been this time two years ago that he'd managed to help the team take home their only victory for their entire season. But then "Single Ladies" blared over the PA system, and he snapped back to reality.

"All right, ladies and gents, you know what to do!" he called over his shoulder, and the Cheerios obliged, lining up behind him, Santana and Brittany flanking him on both sides.

"_All the single ladies, all the single ladies..."_

While the new kicker on their team decidedly did _not_ need the music to score the kick as Kurt had, it had become tradition at McKinley for the song to be played every time, and for the Cheerios to do the iconic dance (much to the football players' relief). Kurt locked eyes with Sam as he put one hand up and placed the other hand on his hip; and if Sam grinned a little in response, and Kurt put a little extra shimmy in his hips as a result, then what of it?

"_If you like it then you should've put a ring on it, if you like it then you should've put a ring on it..."_

The music faded as the new kicker - a small boy named Chris - came out to the field, and the crowd hushed as well. Total silence descended as Chris lined up, drew back... and kicked.

The ball went sailing straight through the goal posts, perfectly in the center.

Utter mayhem. The crowd exploded, jumping to their feet, hollering and clapping. The group of Cheerios spilled onto the field, laughing and high-fiving the players. The music came back on the PA system, blaring louder than ever. And through it all, in the middle of it, there was Sam, pushing his way through the crowd of football players and gorgeous women cheering to stand beside Kurt, who was beaming at him.

"You were amazing," he said, eyes sparkling.

In response, Sam shook his helmet off, placed a hand on Kurt's hip, and drew him in for a kiss.

There were shocked gasps and murmurs from the crowd surrounding them, as well as a couple of cheers (Brittany was probably to blame for that, Kurt thought) and wolf-whistles (definitely Santana). But then Sam raised his other hand to cup Kurt's cheek, and Kurt raised his own hands, tangling them in Sam's hair, and he forgot to be mindful of anything else.

It was perfect.

* * *

It had taken awhile, but eventually the crowd had dispersed and the field slowly emptied out as everyone opted to take their celebrations home. Mercedes had (of course) been the last one to leave them, making the "call me" sign excitedly to Kurt, who smiled and mouthed back, "of course". Mercedes beamed and then turned to Quinn; the both of them shared an excited squeal (Kurt bit back a laugh) and shuffled off the field, chatting with each other animatedly.

Kurt watched them go, then turned back to his boyfriend with a smile. Sam didn't like to shower with the rest of the team (though they had been threatened out of physically harassing the two of them by Sue, most of the jocks still didn't like that they had a 'queer' in their midst), so most nights, he and Kurt were content to wait it out on the field until the others had left; then Sam would shower by himself. Of course, Kurt would sometimes also join him in said shower, but that wasn't a big deal or anything.

(Hey, they were horny teenagers.)

"You've really got to stop being so damn sexy," Sam remarked offhandedly as he ran a hand through his hair, which was drenched with sweat (Kurt approved, though he'd never admit that). "It's very distracting."

"Oh, please," Kurt scoffed, batting a hand. "You scored both of the goals tonight. I hardly think being distracted is your problem."

"True, true," Sam said. "Maybe _distracted'_s not the right word. More like... inspired, even?"

"You're sweet," Kurt grinned, drawing close to Sam, whose arms came up to wrap around Kurt's waist. "A giant dork, but also sweet."

Sam grinned. "You know you love it."

He leaned down and captured Kurt's lips in another kiss.

"Hey, faggots!"

Kurt and Sam broke apart abruptly as they realized that they were not, in fact, alone, and that most of the opposing team had gathered on the field in front of them. Their leader, a tall, beefy player who looked like the result of a Karofsky and Azimio lovechild, was clutching his blue helmet in his hand, a scowl on his face. Kurt automatically stepped closer to Sam, noting how the other boy tensed beside him.

"Yeah, I'm talkin' to you. What, you freaks think you're special, or something?"

"Well, he did win the game against you, so, yes, I'd say he's special," Kurt remarked, managing to keep a shake out of his voice. He felt Sam elbow him, gently, and bit down more retorts.

The jock in front of them shook his head. "Unbelievable. Un-_fucking_-believable. I'd heard McKinley high was a bunch of homos, but I didn't believe it till now. Do you all get together and bang in the locker room after every game? Massive orgy, the whole team? You like the sound of that, don't you, faggots?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. Honestly, did this guy think he was being _clever?_

"Did you want something?" Sam said to the guy, voice deadly cold as he glared at the other jock. "'Cause if not, Kurt and I need to be getting home."

"Oooh, going home together, are you?" another one of the jocks called, to jeers from the rest of the group. "Gonna watch _Sex and the City_ with the lights turned off? That's a gay show, right?" he added in an offhand to a teammate; the other guy shrugged.

"Yeah," the lead jock said, stepping forward threateningly; Kurt raised an eyebrow, nonplussed. "Yeah, actually, I did want something."

"Fantastic," Kurt replied dryly. "What is it that you want, then? Other than a spectacularly failed attempt at gaining back your dignity after you lost to the _faggots_."

"Kurt, shut up," Sam whispered in his ear; this did not go unnoticed by the other jocks, who laughed again.

"Whispering sweet nothings to each other; God, the two of you are so _gay_," the lead jock snarled, dropping his helmet and cracking his knuckles. "Luckily, I gotta cure for that, and it's called the _beat the shit out of you_ system."

Kurt felt Sam tense up even more beside him. "I can take you," he said to the jock, voice low.

The guy laughed. "Yeah, but can you take _all_ of us?"

"No," came a new voice, "but _I_ sure as hell can."

Kurt turned his head so fast he got a crick in his neck. Sue Sylvester was standing at the edge of the field, arms crossed, glaring daggers at the entirety of the football team. The stadium lights bathed her in an eerie glow as she stepped forward _very slowly_, past Kurt and Sam, to stand in front of the lead jock, who looked sufficiently cowed. The boy seemed frozen in place as Sue just glared down at him, looking for all the world like a lioness considering the most painful way to end her prey's life.

Sue raised her megaphone.

"_STEP AWAY FROM THE QUEERS_," she blared, right into the lead jock's face, and he gave a yell as he fell to the ground, clutching his ears. Behind him, the rest of the team stumbled backward, away from Sue, as they looked at their leader, curled into a ball in the dirt, moaning as he massaged his temples.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here," Sue remarked conversationally, considering the jock on the ground in front of her. "I come back to see what on Earth is taking Ladyface so long to get to the bus where his tag-team of hags is waiting, and I find a bunch of Beastie Boy rejects intent on venting their sexual impotence and need for physical violence all over the people who so gloriously defeated them tonight. Luckily for our Gaga-in-training and his piece of eye candy, I can see this for what it is. You boys are frustrated. I understand that. I might even feel bad for you, but you see," and here Sue crouched down to look the lead jock in the eye, "you boys are _frustrated_ because you are not _winners_. And that is why Sue Sylvester cannot feel bad for you, because Sue Sylvester does not know what it is like to be a non-winner, and she never will."

Sue straightened up and looked at the rest of the team. "If the rest of you are not out of here within five seconds, I will personally tear a limb off of each and every one of you and use the collection of parts to build myself a Sue Sylvester 2.0. The face will be absent, of course, because perfect beauty cannot be reproduced no matter how hard one tries."

The team just gaped at her, and Sue raised her megaphone again. "_WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?"_

Immediately, the other jocks scattered. The only one left was the leader, who stumbled to his feet, still clutching his ears. "Wh-what..." he managed, blinking confusedly at Sue.

Sue smirked at him. "Watch the news sometime, kid. You might learn something."

The jock gaped at her; when he didn't move for several moments, Sue raised her megaphone again, but the boy shook his head hurriedly and ran off, still clutching at his ears. Sue chuckled darkly, then turned back to Kurt and Sam, who were holding onto each other and staring at her, open-mouthed.

"Back to the bus, Fabulosity," she said to Kurt, pointing. "Muscles can come too, if need be. Don't make me rescue you again."

Immediately, Kurt and Sam high-tailed it off in the direction she had pointed; Sue watched them go, smirking again. She had inspired fear in the two of them: excellent. She had cut down the fools who dared pick on her star cheerleader: even more excellent.

She had done something nice for someone: less excellent.

Sue told herself that the warm feeling in her chest was just her daily dose of horse estrogen acting up, and stalked back to the bus.


End file.
